


In need of further evidence (let me take you home)

by strawberriesandtophats



Series: Disaster Management has always been their forte [11]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Happily Every After AU, Jakes Never Leaves AU, M/M, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 15:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11293503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: The day that Jakes officially became an Inspector, he straight up stole Sergeant Morse from Chief Inspector Thursday.





	In need of further evidence (let me take you home)

The day that Jakes officially became an Inspector, he straight up stole Sergeant Morse from Chief Inspector Thursday. Not that he hadn’t done it before, grabbing Morse’s hand and dragging him to his desk, demanding an explanation about an academic’s classical reference or weird allusion to something about an opera.

 

But this time, Jakes adjusted his collar and brushed imaginary dust off his suit jacket as he approached Morse’s desk, where Morse was indeed sitting and frowning at a pile of paperwork. It was so early in the morning that Morse hadn’t fully awoken yet, his eyes still bleary.

 

“I’m going to kidnap you,” Jakes said, his tone secretive but very smug.

 

Morse looked up from peering at a file with a puzzled expression on his face.

 

“What?” Morse said, rubbing his eyes. “Why?”

 

“We have a case,” Jakes said. He looked around the office to see if Thursday was around, but he was missing. Still, the scent of his pipe tobacco lingered in the air, so he could not be far. Jakes decided that he needed to hurry. “Are you in?”

 

Morse nodded, having also looked around the almost empty room.

 

They wouldn’t make it if they just walked out. They needed something so flashy that people would just stare and forget to stop them.

 

“Alright?” Jakes asked, staring at Morse and nodding.

 

Morse looked confused, but nodded anyway.

 

So, Jakes lifted Morse up to his shoulders and carried him out of the station like a potato sack before putting him down in front of the car. Strange had stared at them as they passed by, but Jakes had just breezed past, tightening his hold on Morse’s legs. Morse closed his eyes, aware of the whispers in the shared office as Jakes kept walking.

 

“What’s going on?” Morse asked when his feet hit the ground. He smoothed out his shirt, which was good, since Jakes had spent a good portion of last night ironing every single one of his shirts before hanging them in the closet. Someone had to keep Morse from looking like an artful train wreck, and if that person had to be Jakes, then so be it. Living in the same flat as Morse had its perks, as he’d pay all the bills, bake biscuits on Sundays and do his share of the housework. Once, he’d bought a whole stack of fashion magazines and hid them around the flat, remarking that Jakes was both a detective and the resident fashion expert and providing him with fresh information was vital to their careers. In return, Jakes bought the groceries, kept the flat clean and their closets stocked with colorful socks and good suits and shirts.

 

 It was nice to have someone around when he got home.

 

“We’ve found a body. It was underneath a carpet when some nobs were attending a big wedding party,” Jakes explained. “You’re the nearest thing we have to a translator for that sort of thing. Nobody else, except maybe Bright, and he’s not in active service, knows what the hell they mean most of the time.”

 

“I’m supposed to be finishing yesterday’s paperwork,” Morse said. “We’ve just caught five thieves and there are so many reports…”

 

“Thursday’s going to be fine without you for a few hours,” Jakes said, stepping into the sunshine. “We’ve got a murderer to catch.”

 

“Still, he won’t be happy,” Morse said, following Jakes to the car. “Did you tell him that you were going to, erm, borrow his Sergeant? Isn’t there some sort of official protocol for that?”

 

“I left a note on his desk. He’ll be happy when we’ve caught this bastard who goes around killing people,” Jakes replied and got into the car. “Come on.”

 

“If you carry me out of the station like that, Strange will start making comments about it to the other officers,” Morse said, sliding into the passenger seat.

 

Well, more comments. Ever since he’d moved in with Jakes and Jakes had taken to stealing him away to work on cases with him, the other officers had been talking. Morse made sure to compliment Jakes on how good he was at doing honest police work, such as interviewing suspects and making calls so that many of the other officers seemed to believe that their relationship was one of a mixture of friendship and intense mentorship. It didn’t hurt that they believed that Morse’s vocal admiration of Jakes was in fact genuine and that he must be right in looking up to Jakes.

 

“They’ll just think that I’m teaching you the mystical art of fine policework and that you so love to learn that you will even resort to obeying my every order and following my every whim,” Jakes said, sounding delighted by the very idea. He started the car and began reversing, looking behind his shoulder.

 

“Even at home,” Morse said, smiling.

 

“You like being bossed around,” Jakes said, easing the car out of the parking spot “I’ve seen your face when I’m helping you with the dishes. You don’t look put upon at all.”

 

Morse didn’t answer, but there was a pleased look in his eyes.

 

Thursday had warned Jakes about watching the expression in Morse’s eyes as carefully as possible, as he said that he’d seen the lights go out at regular intervals. Jakes followed his instructions. Morse seemed to think that Jakes was simply a person who required a good deal of eye contact and wanted explanations for some of Morse’s behavior, which Morse responded to by also providing eye contact and information.

 

Being provided with a safe and comfortable apartment and regular meals, not to mention shared emotional support appeared to have a good effect on both of them. Morse would still play his awful opera music while they were on a case and he still drank, but a bottle would last a week now, instead of a night. And he could be persuaded to also let Jakes listen to his own records on weeknights.

 

Of course, in between, there were bad days where Morse would get that odd hunted, desperate look in his eyes that Jakes had seen before suspects would try to claw their way out of the interrogation room. And days where Jakes would smoke three packets of cigarettes in one day after a case about missing children. But they would often try to hold onto each other until the darkness faded, talking until their voices were raw.

 

Then they’d wake up in their modest apartment and life would somehow go on.

 

Jakes didn’t know how long this would last.

 

But right now, Morse was sitting beside him on a fine summer morning and the breeze from the open window was lifting his unruly curls as he fiddled around with the radio and smiled. When he looked like that, a damn painting, Jakes wanted to use his savings to buy the man a proper piano so he could use those talented hands to make music, as he probably was destined to do. One day, he was going to get that man an instrument.

 

Jakes stepped on the gas and listened as Morse hummed along with a song on the radio.

 

They’d figure things out.

 

They always did.

 

**Author's Note:**

> We all need more happy Jakes x Morse in our lives.


End file.
